


Return Home

by TheHyperWriter



Category: Paladins: Champions Of The Realm (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Western, Background Relationships, Blood and Gore, Dark and Gloomy, Depressing, F/M, Gen, Implied Lian/Zhin, Implied Relationships, Lex is the only pure boi, Lynching, Moonshine, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Racism, Possibly Unrequited Love, Prostitution, Racism, Racist Language, Slow Build, Smoking, This is very depressing, Wild West AU, more warnings in the notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24535222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHyperWriter/pseuds/TheHyperWriter
Summary: All seems fine in the town of Crosswind Hold. It's a typical town, haunted by outlaws, ne'er-do-wells and train bandits, as well as the good folk of the community who want nothing but to live honest lives.But in a town like this, there is a dark underbelly of corruption, hatred and lies that festers among the criminals and dirty business; because in Crosswind Hold, things aren't always what they seem.A series of Western one shots, all linked, that give a glimpse of the criminal underworld of Crosswind Hold.Updates weekly every Friday, Saturday or Sunday. (ON HIATUS/SPASTIC UPDATING SCHEDULE)
Relationships: Furia/Koga (Paladins)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. Duty Calls

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER (PLEASE READ):  
> Please be warned that this story covers heavy themes like racism and contains some instances of graphic violence.
> 
> Author's Note:  
> Hi. 
> 
> If you like Spaghetti Westerns or just Western stories in general, I think you'll like this very much. 
> 
> Essentially, it's kind of like Red Dead Redemption - but Paladins. 
> 
> So, read on! And don't be shy to leave a comment telling me what you think. 
> 
> I'll be updating this every Friday, Saturday or Sunday, depending on when I'll be able to get on my PC. Friday is the earliest day. 
> 
> \- Hyper

Boots on hard ground; the tinkle of spurs; the glint of the brass sheriff's badge on his vest; the click of dual revolvers; was sometimes all he needed to breed fear in any desperado’s heart. He could see it in their eyes, the fear of death at his hands. Of course, he only had to shoot them a few times in the leg before they were downed and ready to be dragged off to prison. 

Lex was the sort to do it humanely. He believed in respect. 

Even if it was an outlaw he was shooting.

He stared down the woman that he had backed into a corner. She was young, small and feisty. The “Wanted” posters called her Mademoiselle Vicieuse; Lex called her Maeve. He’d known her since young, back when he was Lex Vinson, a morally upright lad of 18. Maeve was always a cheek, having loved pranks and other practical jokes. 

Lex didn’t know why she spiraled into robbing the town bank and killing 3 lawmen on the way out with some well-placed throwing knives to their throats before making off on a horse with the money. He was there. He had seen them choking on and coughing up their own blood, the points of the blades having sunken deep into their necks and protruding out through their napes. 

It was a well-executed attack. But she was deemed too deadly to be left alive by the town mayor, who ordered her to be put to death. She had evaded every lawman who hunted her down. Except him. 

He readied his guns to fire at her head while she clutched her knives and gritted her teeth. She couldn’t run. He had her backed up against a wall. The terror in her blue eyes was unmistakable. It was like her life was flashing in front of her eyes at that very moment. He could see that she knew she was going to die.

He heard her try to plead,

“Lex, don’t do this! Take me alive, if you want! But don’t shoot!” 

Lex’s determined glare softened and he lowered his revolvers a little. There was no trace of the vicious killer in her now. Instead, he saw a terrified little girl, one who didn’t want to die. But, in the end, the barrels of his guns snapped back up to point at her head. 

“I’m sorry, Maeve.” His heart ached with regret for what he was about to do, “I’m afraid duty calls.”

He fired into her skull, the two bullets tearing through her bones like it was paper, and splattering her blood and brain matter on the brick wall behind her. Her face was frozen in one of terror. Her mouth remained a little open, her eyes wide in shock as her lifeless body slumped to the floor with blood weeping out of the two holes in her forehead and trickling down her face. They were just above her eyes - made her look like she was crying blood like the ghosts that supposedly haunted the harsh wilderness. Lex calmly put his guns back in their holsters, the image of her corpse forever seared into his memory. His mind was blank. But it wasn’t long before he found the weight of his deed too heavy to bear. The sight of her blood on the wall and her small body lying in the dust of the road blurred and his eyes became wet.

He stood there for a long time. 


	2. Confidence Game

Strix always wondered what kept him going. 

In every robbery, there was an opportunity. It was the cash that counted. He swindled every single one of the shits living in Crosswind Hold into believing that he was just a businessman, definitely not a high-ranking bandit with enough blood on his hands and robberies under his belt to rival the Tong syndicates of Chinatown. Just how he liked it. 

He pretended to peruse the book in his hand as he sat in the chair on his porch, adjusting the wire-rimmed spectacles on his face every now and then to keep up the facade. The townsfolk walking by knew him to be an honest old man in his 60s, having retired from his life in business to settle down in town to live out the rest of his days. 

They were dead wrong - because grey hair and wrinkles were very easy to fake. 

He laughed a little at this. He liked how the town mayor simply excused his shady illegal activities. The man whom the citizens of this dust bowl of a town called mayor knew what he truly did for a living. But it didn’t concern him as long as Strix didn’t get in his way and occasionally became his bodyguard from time to time - which left a huge gaping hole open for exploitation. 

And as long as Strix played his cards right and kept laying low, he’d hit the jackpot every time. His criminal self was dubbed Ghost Feather by the law, named after his tendency to disappear without a trace, sometimes leaving a few owl feathers in his wake. He was notorious for a certain great train caper, in which the train had simply vanished from the tracks. No one had ever found the train’s crew. He had ensured that no one ever would; hiding the evidence by slaughtering the passengers and stealing the goods, all before sending the train off of a cliff into an insignificant canyon. 

He had help, of course. There was no way he could have pulled that off on his own.

He looked up from the pages of his book to greet the town’s sheriff as he made his usual morning patrols. 

_Just smile and wave, Strix._ He thought, _Just smile and wave…_


	3. Blue Skies Of Home

Crosswind Hold stood in the valley below, scrutinized by his green eyes from a tall hill. He was so close to town that he could throw a stone down onto the roofs of the farmhouses he once knew so well. He was tall, a red bandana covering his nose and mouth from the dust in the plains. The brim of a Stetson shielded his eyes from the sun as he kept a steady hand on one of the two pistols in the holsters on his belt. 

He fingered a bronze brooch in one gloved hand. The metal had been molded to take the shape of a pair of eagle’s wings spread in flight. There was a fondness in his eyes as he gazed at the tiny details of the feathers on the wings. He clutched it in his fist and glanced back at the town of Crosswind Hold. The buildings looked more worn than he remembered. Like the town was falling apart before his eyes. Going back would mean risking his life just to see one girl. 

But then, going to see his lover was always worth the risk.

He kept his eyes on the town and pulled his hat off his head. His hair was a stark white; a contrast against the dark mountain range. He smiled tenderly under his mask and murmured,

“Sweetheart, I’m coming home.”


	4. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! I just wanna say that despite the fact that not many people read my stories, I'm really grateful for the reads regardless! Thanks for the kudos!
> 
> So... enjoy this slightly longer chapter. I somehow spent more time editing this than the others. Hope it was worth it!
> 
> Edit: Made some minor edits to the text. Added in some well-needed descriptions and chopped down on exposition.

The townsfolk of Crosswind Hold all attended her father’s funeral. Lian had tried to keep up appearances. She had worn a plain black gown and draped a black veil over her face; she didn’t want anyone to see her ecstasy. She paced around the crowded parlour of her family’s plantation house, greeting guests and thanking them for coming. Many offered her their condolences, told her that her father was with God now and that he was in a better place. She accepted them politely and went on her way. Their words were nothing to her mind. She was too happy and relieved to even care. 

Her father had never been a nice man. She knew that. He only did what she was doing now: lie and trick the town into thinking he was a charitable, kind man who was genuinely concerned for the community. Lian gazed at the hefty buffalo rifle perched over the mantelpiece and bit her lip to stop herself from laughing. She had 3 brothers; all having died before she turned 10. And when her father passed away, it nicely left Lian as the sole inheritor of her father’s estate. Everything had fallen into place so perfectly it was almost laughable. 

She remembered her father was at a loss on what to do when slavery was abolished. He freed all the slaves he owned; perhaps out of goodwill - or maybe he realised there was a cheaper form of human labor in the form of Chinese immigrants. They were an expendable, efficient workforce, willing to work for minimal pay and could be bought in large numbers.

She didn’t really remember that part of her life. The only Chinese servant in her household she was closest to was a man she only knew as Mr Zheng, who was employed as her caretaker. Unlike other Chinese she knew, he was fluent in English - which was a very rare thing, much to her father’s surprise and chagrin. 

Mr Zheng became the father she never had and even brought her to meet his wife and sons. Her father had objected to this once he found out, which made him stop bringing her to see his family in order to keep his job stable.

She remembered she decided to sneak out one night when she was 16 to go see Mr Zheng’s family, whom she hadn’t seen in years. He had caught her in the act and had wanted her to go back to sleep. She had objected and put up a fight, but he had insisted that it was for the best. 

He died from tuberculosis the next year. 

Lian took a seat in a parlour chair. Her mind was a little overwhelmed from all of this. There were still remnants of her past sorrow from that day. The town sheriff, Lex broke apart from the crowd of funeral attendees and walked over to her. He didn’t have his hat with him and respectfully wore all black.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Miss Marila.” 

“Thanks, sheriff.”

Her father would have been very displeased to see that the town had appointed Lex, a man who was the son of freedmen, as their sheriff. But he had proven to be one of the best lawmen the town ever knew. As well as an overall kind-hearted man who legitimately cared for the safety of the people of the town.

“Right, then. Well… good day, Miss. See you around.”

As the sheriff walked away, Lian recalled the day Mr Zheng had passed away. Suddenly, it was 1868 and she was 17 again. She had rushed to see Mr Zheng's eldest, Jin, who at this point was a dashing young buck of 23 - with beautiful hazel eyes that shone with the fire and life of youth. He had been hired as a farmhand in her father’s sugar plantations and was in the middle of work in the fields when Lian found him. Her father called him ‘Zhin’ due to a name confusion. The name stuck and everyone began calling him that. It made Lian laugh every time she thought of it. 

_“Your father is dead!”_ Her cry to him had been filled with despair - enough to stop him dead in his tracks and drop the rake he had been using. 

He had been silent for a moment before the realisation sunk in and he started to cry. She never would have known that a man as hard bitten and hardy as Zhin could cry if she hadn't told him the news that day.

This memory jolted Lian back to the present day, where she was still sitting in the chair in her parlour. It took her a moment to realise her hands were shaking and there was a heavy weight on her chest squeezing the breath out of her. Tears were creeping at the furthest corners of her vision. Her father’s funeral reminded her of Zhin; her heart soured at the thought. He was run out of town 9 years before on this same day. She heard he had sliced off an innocent man’s hands and there was a large bounty on his head. The law had been chasing him for a long time. 

They never found him, much to Lian’s relief. 

But Lian knew if he was caught someday, their reunion would be at his unmarked grave.


	5. One Cannot Love And Be Wise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY GUYS! Sorry for the late update. I have a few big exams coming up so I may be updating later than usual.
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the chapter!
> 
> ~Hyper

Furia yawned and rested her arms on the polished dark wood of the bar top. It was so late that the moon was high in the sky and the shadows seemed to rear up like the fabled ghosts and monsters that roamed the wilderness. She wiped the remnants of spilt drink off the bar top with a rag and stifled another yawn. She wished she didn’t have to work nights. But there were people who came for drinks at ungodly hours and most men wouldn’t shoot a lady. 

And for the special idiots who did try to shoot her, she reserved a special brew of shots from the pepper-box revolver she kept under the bar. In this world, a woman had to be tough to survive if she wasn’t a rich, high-society lady. Especially if you were a lowly barmaid. Furia always felt the saloon girls had it better. But she had no interest in fooling customers for a living. 

She’d rather dance with a man if she actually liked him, thank you. 

She was about to start cleaning the beer mugs when a trio of travel-worn visitors burst into the bar. One of them, a slender young man with a shock of blonde hair sauntered up to her. 

“Good evening, sir. Can I get anything for you?” Furia said, her voice not holding any of the Southern drawl that the folks here had. She kept her gaze cold. No need to be friendly. They didn’t look like trustworthy people.

“Evenin’, missy. We’ll take some of that whiskey you have back there.” her customer grinned at her as the other two, one of which she realised was actually a short redheaded woman, strolled up behind him. 

Under the bar top, Furia laid a hand on her revolver to make sure it was still there.

She grabbed 3 mugs from the side and went to fill them before hearing the familiar click of a pistol being cocked. She whipped her head around to check and was met with the barrel of a pistol to her face. The 3 patrons had their guns drawn on her. They didn’t look like they wanted drinks anymore. She set down the mugs with a decisive clang. 

Fine. She kept the best orders for these kinds of people. 

It wasn’t long before the blonde-haired ruffian had a loaded gun pointing at his forehead. Furia met his coy smirk with a menacing stare. 

“I’ve dealt with fuckers like you before.” she snarled, “What do you want?”

The man laughed,

“Well, aren’t you mighty tough!” he scoffed, “Darling, we just want your money. Just give us the key to your safe and your pretty little head won’t be shot through.”

Furia heard footsteps somewhere in the saloon back room. She gave no heed and kept her gun trained on her target. She wasn’t a bad shot. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still a little unconfident. The footsteps grew louder. Someone behind her gently tugged her back and wrapped an arm around her waist. Suddenly, the bandits at the bar looked scared. The man in front lowered his gun, staring behind her at the stranger who had just entered.

“...who are you?” He took a step back but kept his gun aimed at her head. 

The newcomer spoke, 

“Who are you to threaten a nice lady like that?” Furia heard a familiar voice near her ear, “You know, if I were you, I’d go and get a proper job instead of pointing guns at innocent girls in saloons. Now move along - if you know what’s good for you…” she felt the arm around her waist pull away as the stranger drew dual revolvers from hidden holsters.

“You ever heard of the Lost Hand? Because I heard he is an excellent shot with a gun.” He added, a smirk bleeding into his tone.

The sound of revolvers firing made her ears ring. The two behind the blonde man went down first with shots in both their eyes, blood running down their faces from their eye sockets; their retinas having been reduced to pulp and veiny red and white jelly. Their blood splattered the tiles of the floor as they lay screaming in agony in their last moments of life. The last remaining fellow turned to flee but was downed in two shots, one to his spine and one to the back of his head. His shout of pain as he fell rang through the saloon before fading to complete silence. 

Furia put her gun away. So did the newcomer. He was tall, with pretty green eyes. A red bandana masked the lower half of his face from view. He took off his hat, showing matted white hair underneath. He pulled off his bandana, showing off a grin on his handsome face,

“Hey, sweetheart. Told you I’d come back, didn’t I?” His mannerisms had a certain charm to them; it was the same charm she fell for when she was 16.

“Koga!” She couldn’t stop the tears from flowing as she squeezed him in a hug and pressed kisses to his lips and jawline, before pulling away and slapping him hard in the face,

“You can be so stupid sometimes!” she cried, “You know if the sheriff comes in and sees you, you’re dead, right? Why do you still come here if you know you’ll get shot? GODDAMN IT, KOGA!” She raised her palm to strike him again as he winced and braced for the impact. 

She sighed and lowered her arm, her anger fading as quickly as it appeared. 

“You know I can’t stay mad at you for long. Do you want a drink?”

“That depends on whether I pay, sweetheart.” he said, “It’s your call.”


	6. Bastard Benevolence

Chinatown wasn’t pretty at night. Zhin knew it well. He’d grown up here half his life, after all.

The streets were dark. He sighed and put a cigarette to his lips, his lighter providing a quick flash of light in the murky shadows. Zhin kept walking. He had a debt to settle. Some imbeciles had forgotten to pay the local Tong’s Dragon Head for a supply of opium. Their payment was long overdue and his higher-ups had sent him to deal with them. After all, he _was_ their go-to hatchet man. He just had to beat them around a bit and scare them enough to make them cough up the cost. Besides, it was worth the cut of the pay he was getting.

He stepped up to the laundry and tried the door - locked. He exhaled smoke into the air and signaled with one hand, the other on the curved sabre at his side. several men, clothed in black suit jackets and bowler hats stepped out of the shadows to join him, armed with rifles, revolvers and knives. 

Zhin glanced furtively at them, then at the locked shop door,

 _“They locked it. Deal with them.”_ He growled, the Mandarin rolling easily off his tongue, before adding, _“They are fools to think they are safe behind a bolted door.”_

It took a few shots at the lock on the door to break it. Zhin would probably have had them do something else. But whatever! It worked. He pushed open the door and drew his sword. The blade had once been his father’s.

Blood would be spilt tonight.


	7. Patience Of A Saint

“Everything’s in place, boss.”

Strix laughed, “Excellent. Now we just gotta wait. Snipe ‘em as they come by, got it?”

His companion, a black girl named Kinessa grinned and readied her rifle as she sat on the dusty ground in the midday sun. He’d found her in a brothel one evening in 1866 and busted her out, shooting her pimp in the head as he left. He’d felt a little sorry for the poor girl; having to sell her body for a bit of cash every night to the men who wanted her. 

So he gave her a better life; albeit one of crime. But hey, it was better than prostitution.

He had another lackey, Tyra Pedersen, a Norwegian runaway from Wisconsin. She had snuck on the train they were robbing with a few other fellows to deal with the expressman and get the cargo. Of course, if the cargo wasn’t valuable it was their cue to force the passengers to give up their jewelry and cash at gunpoint. But Miss Pedersen had her orders: kill all passengers on board regardless of compliance; men, women and children - she wasn’t supposed to care. 

Strix was only there to make sure that the train would be fully theirs. 

This time, he’d given Kinessa the honour of sniping the train’s driver. And if she missed, he would take over and do it himself. He trusted the girl, though. She was a crack shot with a sniper rifle and most of the time, she never missed. 

He watched as the train sped down the tracks towards their little place atop a cliff. He could see swift movement in the passenger car and hear the guns going off; Tyra and her friends were doing good work down there. As the train raced closer, Strix laid a hand on Kinessa’s shoulder,

“Ready yourself, kiddo. We’ve got ‘em comin’ in hot!”

Her rifle went off twice moments later. 

“Man down, boss. Sniped the fireman for kicks!” She looked up at him from her scope with triumph shining on her face.

Strix adjusted his glasses. He could already smell victory. Soon, Tyra would be taking over the train once she’s finished off the passengers with the help of a few men on horseback. 

He just had to wait…


	8. Welcome Home

Lian gazed out of her bedroom window into the night. She liked looking out at night. She could see the stars glittering in the sky. It made the sky look like black fabric with rhinestones scattered across. She smiled just as there was a knock on her bedroom door. 

“Ma’am, there is a man asking to see you at the door!” 

“What?” Lian straightened and opened the bedroom door to see her butler, a young boy named Wang Kei (he was only 17), standing in the corridor. She always made sure she treated her servants and workers well, no matter their race. 

Besides, she was part Chinese herself. She just told no one about it and was lucky she didn't look the part. 

“What does he look like, Wang?” she continued.

The boy was silent in thought, before saying,

“He says his name is Jin and that he knows you.”

Lian stiffened. She must have looked strange, as Wang became concerned,

“Is there anything wrong, ma’am?”

“No, Wang. Let him in! And quickly!”

"Yes, ma'am!"

As the boy turned to dash down the hallway, Lian closed the door and sunk to the floor in despair. There was no way it was him. He couldn’t come back! It was too dangerous! He could get hanged by a mob… or worse. He was a fugitive from the law and coming back to Crosswind Hold was risky for him. She heard Wang’s light, fast footsteps on the floorboards preceded by the sound of heavy boots thundering on the wood. They were coming closer. 

Lian managed to stand up and make her nightgown look a little less crumpled when Wang let her guest in,

“Mr Zheng is here to see you, ma’am.”

And there was Zhin, standing right there in front of her. He looked older - more worn; clothed in a simple cotton shirt and pearl grey vest. His long black hair was all under his hat. He carried a vicious curved sword at his side, as well as a common revolver hanging from his belt in its holster. 

And was that _blood_ splattered on his shirt? 

“Hello, Lian. It has been awhile.” He said stiffly. He didn’t greet her with a smile. Instead, his face was cold and professional, as if he was there for business and she was an absolute stranger.

She dismissed Wang and closed the door with shaking hands. Turning to face Zhin, she clasped her hands and gazed at him. For a long time, there was silence between them. Lian didn’t think he’d ever step into town and make it to her house alive. But here he was, albeit with a splash of blood on his clothes. He certainly wasn’t injured. What happened to the boy who taught her how to skip stones at the creek all those years ago? When Lian tried to speak, her voice came out strangled,

“H - how are you alive…?”

He scrutinised her with a steely gaze, “I don’t want to answer that.” He said, turning his face away.

“It’s been 9 years, Zhin. How have you been?” Lian slowly found her footing, realising that she had been tensely gripping the wall behind her with the edges of her fingers. 

“I have been well. You look like you are in quite a good place yourself, Lian.”

She resisted the urge to smile from a wave of rueful nostalgia. It was like they were having a normal conversation and absolutely nothing had changed; Zhin wasn’t an outlaw, he wasn’t banished from town… everything was normal. She felt a smile break out on her face regardless. Zhin noticed this. She could tell. He even managed to smile a little too, moved by hers. The tension eased between them as he pulled over a chair to sit, looking a little more relaxed. 

“I missed you, you know…?” Lian perched on the edge of her bed, “I keep thinking that one day I’ll find you hanging by a noose from a bridge!”

“You do not have to worry about me.” His smile was sad, “I found a place where I would be safe. Chinatown’s gangs have given me the protection I need.” 

She narrowed her eyes, “Are you sure they can be trusted?”

Lian watched as he put a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a lighter from his pocket. He had taken off his hat and put it in his lap, sitting ankle over knee. Who knew he’d start to smoke? 

“Not fully, of course.” He said sheepishly, “I have to be careful with who I trust. Next thing I know, I’ll be shot in the back by my own friends.”

She looked down at the floor and sighed, 

“Please be careful, ok?”

“I know, Lian… I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so... I'm taking a week off from writing Paladins fics for awhile. So I'll be updating the week after next week.
> 
> See ya then!
> 
> ~ Hyper.


	9. The Body At The Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS POTENTIALLY DISTURBING AND/OR TRIGGERING TOPICS. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
> 
> Author's Note:  
> Hey, people! I'm really happy this chapter is finally out. But I'm sorry to say that I'll probably be updating less in the next few months because I have finals coming up and I need to study. I'll still try to update weekly, though. See how it goes. 
> 
> ~ Hyper

“What do you mean you found a body?” 

“Lex, I think you should see it for yourself.”

“Androxus, listen…” Lex paused to swallow a mouthful of whiskey, “... elaborate on what you saw. Please.”

“There’s a man hanging under the bridge at the stream just outside town.” Androxus said, his voice a low, rough growl from a decade of smoking, “He’s long dead, Sheriff. Looks like he’s been dead for at least 2 days.” 

Lex sighed. The town sheriff wiped his mouth on his sleeve and slowly got up from his chair, loosening his stiff neck and stretching himself.

“Fine. Show me where it is.” 

* * *

The body was fresh; Male; black; at least 30.

Lex stared. Seeing the man’s body shocked him. It brought back things he didn’t want to think about. Just by looking at the body, he knew exactly how he died. 

“He looks like my daddy…” The words came out too fast before he could even stop them. 

“What?” Androxus said as he examined the corpse, “What happened?”

Lex shuddered, and stayed silent. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket, feeling like he needed the tobacco to clear his head. He lit it with a match and sucked in the smoke, coughing a little as the acrid tobacco tickled his throat. He rarely smoked. But there were times where he really needed one. 

He heard Androxus say, “It was like Maeve, ain’t it?”

He knew his friend cared, but his words made something inside Lex snap. 

“Andro, please - we don’t talk about Maeve.” He growled, “It’s something that I don’t want to talk about.”

"...and it ain't like her, alright?" He added, "Hers was different. She died for a different reason."

Androxus looked guilty for a moment, 

“Sorry, partner. Didn’t mean to make you angry…”

Lex sighed again. He seemed to be sighing an awful lot these days. Maybe he just needed a good, hot meal at the saloon, some strong whiskey and some good conversation. He fished out a knife from his pocket and approached the hanging body. 

“Come on, Andro… let’s cut this poor fella down.”


	10. The Devil Takes What He Pleases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note:  
> I'M BACC! For now.
> 
> Anyway, this is a pretty exciting chapter. I actually quite enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Strix remembered now.

He was in Chinatown. It was a warm, balmy night. He was cornered; his back against a grimy wall as a tall figure closed in on him. Others skulked in the shadows, with the occasional flash from a lighter or a match signaling the lighting of a cigarette. From where Strix was standing, he couldn’t see how many of them there were. His heart was racing out of control. He had no weapon. He had nothing to fight with. He couldn’t run. His legs were somehow rooted to the ground - immovable. 

God help him… there was no way he could lie and cheat his way out of this one.

The tall man in front of him was coming closer. Strix knew him. He had seen him in the mayor’s office all those years ago. 

When Strix tried speaking, his voice was gasping,

“Wha—what are you here for?” 

The man replied, his voice heavy and foreign.

_“You know what I am here for.”_

Suddenly, it started raining. Water drenched Strix’s clothes and hair, washing off the makeup he used for his elderly cover-up. He wiped his face, seeing flesh-coloured foundation come off on his hands with the rain. When lighting illuminated everything for a brief moment, he could have sworn the gunk on his hands turned into blood. 

The man was still there, staring down at him with those dark hazel eyes. 

_“Have you brought it? "_ He said.

Before Strix could control his mouth, a very quiet but not inaudible word slipped out,

“No.” 

His single response was like a funeral bell tolling; a single death wish. 

Another flash of lighting blinded him - and in the split second of light, the man staring him down was suddenly dressed in loose hanging clothes akin to those workers who toiled in the plantations. But it was only for a split second before he became the menacing devil dressed in dark colours once more. 

_“You said that last time.”_ He said, and chuckled.

Strix’s eyes widened when he saw him draw an ugly curved sword. 

“N-no! Wait! I promise I’ll pay you back! Gimme a few more days!” 

_“How long has it been? Tell me?”_

“Three years…” _I don’t know!_

The man’s laughter grew louder and seemed to reverberate as he morphed into a demonic beast that towered over Strix - all black and dripping tar and blood, with a dozen curved horns and a reptilian-like mouthful of sharp, long fangs. 

Strix heard himself scream, “NO! PLEASE! I’LL PAY YOU BACK! PLEASE!-”

Then he woke up, his bedroom ceiling greeting him instead of the maw of a monster in his dreams. He sat up, running a hand through his hair, still panting and his heart still pounding. 

“Boss? You ok?”

Kinessa stood in the open doorway with a lit candle. She looked a little drowsy, probably having just woken up,

“Yeah, I’m alright, kid. Go back to sleep.” 

“But you were screamin’.” She stayed swaying a little in the doorway, “I woke up.” 

“It’s nothin’, kiddo. Just a bad dream…” Strix rubbed his eyes as a chill ran down his spine. He was still shaking. 

“Curse that yellow devil!” He muttered, “He’s gonna come for my head! Gotta make a run for it-!”

“Boss, whaddya mean?” 

“Huh?” He was surprised Kinessa could hear him, “Like I said, kiddo, it’s nothin’! Nothin’ important!” He snapped, feeling guilty once he saw her reel back in surprise at his harsh tone.

“Sorry, kiddo. Didn't mean to be so hard on ya.” He said after a pause.

Through their silence, there came a couple of sharp raps on the front door. Strix’s heart picked up again. No! It couldn’t be him! That devil hadn’t shown his face around town for the past 9 years! There was no way he’d come back to collect a few measly souls! There was fresher meat in the poor, dirty streets of Chinatown!

But there was something in his heart that told him otherwise. 

“‘Nessa, wake up Miss Pedersen. Tell her to load her gun and be on guard.” He said. There was a chance they’d be outnumbered 10 to 1; but at least they had a fighting chance. 

He stood up and wore his boots, still in his night things. He grabbed and holstered his revolver, loading in a few rounds. Stumbling to the front door, he saw Tyra dragging herself out of her room, rifle in hand and still in her pajamas.

“They’re comin’ for me, Pedersen.” He whispered to her.

“Strix, it’s been 12 years… they’re still chasing?” Tyra slurred, still bleary from sleep.

“They’re like wolves, Tyra. They got a new one chasin’ me too.” Strix said, “Just… just keep yer aim steady, alright? I may die tonight - so please, just protect Kinessa. Get her outta this town.”

“Got it, boss.” 

“You girls run East — get yourselves good jobs and settle down.” 

“Alright, Strix. Fine.” She said, before sighing irritably, “ _Helvete!_ When are you going to open the door so I can get a shot in?”

The knocking on the door came again, more frantic and impatient. 

Strix glanced behind at Kinessa. She was silently, sullenly watching, a look of slight fear on her face illuminated by the dying candle. She could only shoot through a scope. She hadn’t been in a shootout before. Strix gave her a comforting smile in an attempt to hide the evident fear in his eyes. He reached out to turn the doorknob, heart racing as he heard the rusty creak of the hinges. He gazed out into the night; into the eyes of the starving wolf who was hunting him down.

His terror dissolved. A relieved grin broke out across his face. He wasn’t going to die today. The man who stood at his door wasn’t _him_. 

Strix straightened and lowered his gun,

“Why, evenin’, Mayor. What are you doin’ here so late?”


	11. Game Hunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: CONTAINS STRONG LANGUAGE AND RACIAL SLURS AS WELL AS INSTANCES OF GRAPHIC, GRATUITOUS VIOLENCE. VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.
> 
> Author's Note:  
> HELOOOO EVERYBODYYYYYY
> 
> It's been a long-ass time since I've updated this! I've actually had a resurgence of interest in this fic. So I wrote a whole new chapter!
> 
> It's a long one! So enjoy!

Koga stirred and stretched his stiff arms. Perhaps this was what he deserved for sleeping on the cold floor of the saloon back room. It was still early. No one in this town would usually go for drinks at morning’s light. Or so he thought. He realised that the sun was now pretty high in the sky. Curse him for waking up late! Besides all of that, his head was throbbing and felt like it had been shot through several times by a cavalry rifle.

“God-fuckin’-dammit…” He massaged his temples and pressed his back against the back room wall to try and get some feeling in his bones.

“Morning!” He heard Furia’s voice call cheerily as he stood up. His fiancée was leaning casually on the doorframe when he looked at her. He let his eyes wander up her figure. She was still lovely in his eyes. She was still able to charm him with those amber eyes that shone like a campfire in the night. God. He’d do anything to clear his name so he could finally marry her. He had been wrongly accused of a crime he didn’t commit - framed and run out of town when he was 24. 

He had been a cheeky youth; the son of a white rancher and a Japanese prostitute. His mother had left him at his father’s doorstep and was never seen again. When he was a kid, he had been called a variety of things; from “Mongrel” to “half-caste” - he’d heard it all. 

He didn’t know why his father (bless his soul!) had still loved him like a son. He had raised him right and made sure his son treated folks with honor and respect.

“You want to help out?” He heard Furia ask. 

“Sure, darling.” He said, slipping off his hat and coat, “No one will notice me, right?”

“No. I’ve had more outlaws in here than innocent folk. No one would mind you.”

The saloon was already busy with the mid-morning’s patrons. Koga chuckled and got to work. Furia rushed behind the bar as he reached over to grab a washcloth, seizing 4 full tankard of ale in both hands before dashing out again into the chaos of the morning’s first customers. Koga was filling up a mug of ale when a pretty Chinese girl, all dolled up in a fashionable purple dress walked up to the bar with an older man in tow. She leaned in and whispered,

“Hey, Koga…! Could you grab me a drink?”

He set the full mug aside, “Oh, hello, Ying. You’re talkin’ about the “whiskey”, right?” 

“Yeah, my guy over here is paying.” 

“Right… I’ll get to ya in a moment.”

Koga took an old whiskey bottle from the shelf and poured out a thin amber liquid into a smaller glass, making sure to hide what he was pouring from view of the patrons at the bar. It was thinner than the normal whiskey that was usually served, and people would get suspicious if they saw that. He pushed it over to Ying, who gladly took it.

“Koga, please tell me that’s the sugar water?” She hissed.

“Don't worry, I got it right this time.”

He handed various customers their drinks with a smile and the occasional casual “How’s the weather out there?” Most of them replied cheerfully, and if they recognised him as an outlaw, they probably just brushed it off. Everyone was welcome here - even bad men. 

Well, almost everyone. 

Koga was taken aback when he saw an oddly tall Chinese man walk into the saloon. He was so tall, he had to bend slightly to keep his head from crashing into the doorframe. He kept his eyes diverted from the stranger and waited for one of the bar’s patrons to suddenly jump up from their seat and whip out a pistol to shoot the poor fellow. No one liked any Chinese to come into any saloon. 

But what surprised Koga the most was how the man didn’t make any effort to cover his face to hide his Asian features. He just strided confidently up to the bar, ignoring the dirty looks aimed at him by the other patrons. 

Did this man hold any value for his own life?

Koga met Furia’s gaze and nodded. He could see she was thinking the same thing as he was: something ugly was about to go down; because any Chinese man that walks into a saloon, especially one this fearless, would probably be shot before he could even order a drink. 

Before the stranger could reach the bar, however, he was stopped when one of the saloon’s patrons stalked up to him. He looked like one of the sons of the ranchers who lived on the outskirts of town. Those youths were fresh out of their teens; maybe just turned 20 that year. At that age, these young men were hot-blooded and proud - baying to pick a fight with those who were weaker than them. Koga had once been like that. It had been awhile and he had grown up since. But from his experience, nothing good could ever come out of such impulsiveness. 

Koga could hear their conversation from where he was standing:

_ “Get outta here, chink. You ain’t welcome here.”  _

The stranger answered:

_ “I have business here. Will you please get out of my way?” _

Koga raised an eyebrow at this. It wasn’t common for any man of Asian descent to be able to speak English at any degree of fluency. By now, the room had gone silent - even the pianist in the corner had stopped playing - and every eye was turned to the two men in the centre, watching the situation unfold with bated breath.

The lad laughed,

_ “Go back to your plantations where you belong!”  _ He snarked, shoving the stranger back. 

The stranger scowled. It was a look of contempt and disgust. He glared at the young man in front of him like he was a cowpat on the floor,

_ “Perhaps something will teach you to not interfere in my business.”  _

_ “I doubt you can even shoot a gun!” _

That was when the man drew out a long, curved sword and hacked off the man’s right arm from his shoulder in two swift cuts. It took two strong swings for the blade to slice through the tendon, muscles and bone. The sight of his grievous wound made the poor boy scream bloody murder, and when accompanied by the view of his severed, still-twitching forearm on the floor made it a grisly scene. The stump of what remained of his arm spewed short and quick spurts of dark red blood from torn arteries. The blood was pooling thickly on the floor and soaking into the dark brown wood, staining it black. 

“Oh God, that’s going to be Hell to clean up.” Furia muttered.

Murmurs rippled through the watching patrons as the stranger, whose clothes and sword were now splattered with blotches of scarlet from the splattering of his victim’s blood, sauntered up to the bar and casually lit a cigarette. It appeared that folks recognised this man. From what Koga could pick up, whispers mentioning:  _ “...that blasted Hand-Taker!” _ and,  _ “He’s taken another hand!” _ were passed around. He leaned over to Furia,

“Who’s this Hand-Taker, Sarah? You know anything?” He said, "And how come you've never told me about him?"

“I just never thought you'd bother! Besides, the Chinaman who just walked in here and ripped off someone’s arm is certainly him. Otherwise, I don’t know much.” She replied, moving to fill someone’s glass with more whiskey, “Gossip says he chopped off a man’s hands and made a run for it. Apparently he was working in the Marila plantation.”

“You mean the one owned by that bastard, Niika Amarasi Marila?”

“Yeah. He’s dead; died 2 weeks ago. Good riddance! His daughter now runs the place. She’s a good girl, Koga - smart, too! She knows her business. Comes here for a glass of whiskey every morning through the back door.”

Just as she said this, there came a telltale knock on the back door of the saloon. Then a voice, 

“Sarah? You in there?” 

Furia grinned and set down the mugs she was holding,

“I’ll be right with you!” She hollered back.

Koga smiled and turned to the stranger, the dastardly Hand-Taker himself at the bar. The man was cleaning his sword with a rag; the cloth was stained with blood - both old and new. He watched for a while as the stranger polished the blade. It took a moment for him to notice Koga, but soon, he found himself staring at a pair of cold brown eyes that blazed with a bitter anger.

“Spit it out, boy!” The stranger snarled, “I can see you have questions! Do not stand there and gawk!”

“Wha… I’m sorry, sir?” Koga didn’t expect the man to respond so soon, “May I have a name then? I haven’t seen you around before.”

“Zhin.” The stranger, now Zhin muttered.

“Well… Zhin, welcome to town…” Koga tried to distract himself from this awkward situation. Zhin’s eyes were piercing, like a pair of well-sharpened knives. His gaze was making Koga uneasy. He trained his ears on the conversation Furia was having with the lady at the back door:   
  
_ “How’s my moonshine today, Lian?” _

_ “Absolutely delicious! Nailed it as usual, Sarah.” _

Furia had been illegally brewing her own whiskey in the cellar of the saloon for the past 3 years. The saloon had been making a mint lately because of her moonshine. Koga knew the feeling when you drank one too many glasses of Sarah “Furia” Morgan’s famous corn whiskey. It was horrible when you would wake up with a painful, throbbing head and bile at the back of your throat.

“You want anythin’?” He asked Zhin, who was idly smoking what seemed to be his second or third cigarette. 

He got a stiff nod and a silent gesture to the whiskey bottles in reply, with a signal for a single glass.

Koga poured one out for him just as Furia stuck her head in through the back door,

“Hey, I want you to meet someone! Get over here!” 

She beckoned him over to the door where he was met with a pretty young lady whose youthful face was creased with laughter. She was a little older than him; her dress and petticoats were fine enough to let him know that she was wealthy, but also were made for practicality as well as style; with her skirt split in the middle for riding. Her hair was white like his - and pulled back in a ponytail. Ringlets of it fell and framed her small face. The only thing out of place on her feminine persona was a bandolier that she wore slung across her chest. 

“Oh, hello. Who’s this?” She remarked when she saw him, prompting Furia to chuckle. 

“This is Koga, my fiancé.” She said, before turning to Koga, “Koga, this is Miss Lian Amarasi Marila, daughter of the late Mr Marila.”

Koga quirked up an eyebrow in greeting, “Heya, Miss. Don’t believe we’ve met.” 

“A bit hard to get married when one of you is running from the law, isn’t it?” Lian said, earning her a glare from Furia. 

“Hey, you know I don’t especially bother about the law when it comes to my fiancé.” She retorted, “I’m planning to save up enough money so we can make a run for it someday! I just want to get out of this blasted town!” 

Lian smiled knowingly, “I could help you two. If I can make space for that devil of an outlaw you call the Hand-Taker, I can certainly make space for two more in my house.”

“By the way, is he in town?” She added, “I need to see him. Gotta make sure he isn’t getting into too much trouble.” 

“Why, he just happened to walk into this saloon!” Furia said, jabbing a thumb behind her into the bustle and noise. Judging from the brewing chatter, people were getting impatient waiting for Furia to return. 

She hastily added, “Give us a moment,” before grabbing Koga by the sleeve and dragging him quickly back into the saloon. 

“You get that Hand-Taker man to his lady-friend while I handle the customers.” She said to him and immediately pushed away to manage the tetchy men who called for more drink. 

Koga glanced at Zhin. The man was using his still-burning cigarette to char doodles into the wood tabletop of the bar counter. He had not drunk a single drop of his whiskey. 

“Hey.” His voice made him jump, “You got a lady waiting for you out back. You wanna keep her waiting or what?”

The Chinese outlaw stood up and glared at Koga with those spiteful eyes. He made his way behind the bar, ashing his cigarette in his glass of whiskey. When he brushed past Koga to head through the back door, the saloon was suddenly filled with screams of surprise; Zhin’s cigarette had caused the whiskey to burst into flames. Koga almost crashed into Furia, who had rushed in with a bucket of water to put out the fire which had already spread to the bar counter. She shot daggers at Zhin’s retreating back as she doused out the fire.

“You good-for-nothing, chink-eyed sonova bitch!” She shook her fist at him, “How’d you feel if I lit  _ your  _ ass on fire, huh?!”

Zhin coolly ignored her, although he seemed mildly offended by her racially-charged insult. 

Koga followed Zhin out with his hands on both his pistols to make sure the madman didn’t run back in to slice off his fiancee’s hands. Lian was still waiting there - this time leaning against a wall busily loading a hunting rifle. When Zhin saw her, his face softened and his eyes lost their spark of disgruntled bitterness. It was like he had transformed into a completely different man. He greeted the woman with a reserved smile that was still warm. 

Furia had come to stand in the doorway with him, having cleaned up the mess left behind by the fire. Koga leaned in, 

“Y’know, darling, I think there’s more to this Hand-Taker than meets the eye.” He murmured, “I’m gonna go find out more about him.” 

She stared at him incredulously, “And how are you going to do that?” 

“I’ll do some good ol’ askin’ questions and getting answers.” 

He shouted to Lian and Zhin, who were having an upbeat conversation in a foreign language,

“Hey! Sorry to interrupt the two of you, but where are y'all going?”

Lian shot him a grin,

“Hunting! You want to come along?”

“I’ll be right behind you.” Koga said, slapping his hat on his head and pulling his mask over his face. He raced to grab Furia’s horse from the saloon’s small stables, knowing she wouldn’t mind him borrowing Wildfeet for awhile. He brushed past Zhin, who gave him a curt nod as he returned with the brown stallion in tow.

He saddled up just as Furia was shaking off Lian’s invitation to follow them, saying that she had work to get back to. Koga smiled, his grin hidden under his mask; Furia was always the sort to work honest and hard. That was part of why he loved her. 

Lian rode up to him and handed him a rifle,

“Hope you know your way around a gun.” She said, slinging her own rifle over her shoulder. 

After a quick exchange between her and Zhin in that strange musical tongue they both seemed to know so well, the three raced off on the beaten road out of town, horses kicking up dust behind them.


End file.
